Category / life

Prayer of an Unknown Confederate Soldier

I asked for strength that I might achieve;
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.

I asked for health that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.

I asked for riches that I might be happy;
I was given poverty that I might be wise.

I asked for power that I might have the praise of men;
I was given weakness that I might feel the need of God.

I asked for all things that I might enjoy life;
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.

I got nothing that I asked for
but everything that I had hoped for.
Almost despite myself my unspoken prayers were answered,
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.

Maybe It Was Too Soon for Star Wars


Tonight, Jack decided that he wanted to read his “Dark Bader stories” before bed. Knowing he didn’t have any Darth Vader stories, I asked him to show me his book. He proudly held up the one pictured at right.

Not exactly sure what to make of this.

As I’m also not sure what to make of the fact that Darth Vader is his favorite Star Wars character. Let’s see… we have multiple characters on the side of “good,” many of which displaying plenty of human foibles to add to their charm. And we have Darth Vader, second only to the Emporer himself as “evil incarnate.” And Jack picks Vader.

Perhaps it was a little too soon, after all.

Flying Lesson by Julia Kasdorf

I heard this poem while listening to The Writer’s Almanac on NPR a few weeks ago. I don’t know if it was the mood I was in or something else entirely, but I distinctly remembered feeling like this as a young college student on my own “merciless Midwestern plain.” I was, at once, feeling the familiar feelings of euphoria that ride along with the unknown and a new foreboding and trepidation, knowing that my own darlings will one day feel this way… Who will be there to offer them a timely flying lesson?

Flying Lesson

Over a tray of spent plates, I confessed
to the college president my plans to go East,
to New York, which I’d not really seen,
though it seemed the right place
for a sophomore as sullen and restless
as I had become on that merciless
Midwestern plain. He slowly stroked
a thick cup and described the nights
when, a theology teacher in Boston, he’d fly
a tiny plane alone out over the ocean,
each time pressing farther into the dark
until the last moment, when he’d turn
toward the coast’s bright spine, how he loved
the way the city glittered beneath him
as he glided gracefully toward it,
engine gasping, fuel needle dead on empty,
the way sweat dampened the back of his neck
when he climbed from the cockpit, giddy.
Buttoned up in my cardigan, young, willing
to lose everything, how could I see generosity
or warning? But now that I’m out here,
his advice comes so clear: fling yourself
farther, and a bit farther each time,
but darling, don’t drop.

from Eve’s Striptease
© University of Pittsburg Press.

What I want for Christmas

Char has been asking me what I want for Christmas (in fact, since the name draw, so has Marjie) so I’ve been putting some thought into the issue. Unfortunately, I’ve been having trouble coming up with ideas. In fact, I’ve been having trouble getting into the whole Christmas spirit. This is odd, because I love presents. I love Christmas morning and watching people open stuff and the reactions of the kids and even sitting up until 3am putting together bikes and tables and kitchen toys with instructions written in Chinese.

So I’ve been trying to put my finger on what’s going on in my head. This morning, I think I figured it out. I was going through old posts on the blog (cleaning up the occasional ‘promotional comment’) and I came across several posts that set me thinking.

Things like Anna Quindlen’s take on parenting, and about baby Zach and his Angel wings, and Jack’s many unusual questions, and Lily’s wishes.

And then I followed a link to the photo album and found the pictures of Abby and Grace in the hospital and the day we brought them home. And the answer was immediately obvious to me. How could I possibly want anything else? When I look at the photos of these two darlings in their incubators, all those wires trailing out, and remember how impossibly tiny they were… When I think about the other babies that were there with them, some for more than a year, some who will never be healthy… When I think about Zach’s death, how quickly it happened and how little control we have over the things that really matter in life. In short, when I think of all our blessings, I realize that I couldn’t possibly be wanting for anything more.

I’m looking forward to Christmas. I can’t wait to see the kids open their presents and be delighted by the wonders. (You should see them all now, lying on their bellies watching the train go ’round the Christmas tree, clapping and saying “Yay!”) And honestly, having the family there, seeing everyone, will be enough for me.

Well, that maybe and another batch of crybaby cookies.

"Happiness" by Raymond Carver

On the way in to work this morning, I happened to catch Garrison Keillor’s “Writer’s Almanac” where he highlighted the following poem. As an old (former) paper boy, I could instantly relate to the thoughts of Raymond Carver in “Happiness”:

So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.